I've been trapped inside a man's body for 18 years. I've never told anyone.

He’s an unhappy man. You can see it in the way he smiles, the way he talks and the way he laughs. He’s miserable and it breaks my heart. I wish I could tell him it’s okay. I wish I could reach out from the depths of his mind and let him know someone is there with him. I wish I could give him a hug and hold his hand and reassure him that somehow, someway, everything will be okay. But I can’t. I’m just a prisoner trapped inside a man I don’t know. I was 24 years old when it happened. I was working as a waitress in a bar and I was having a good time. I’d just graduated from university the year before and was using the time to enjoy myself, travel the world and see what lay outside of the small town I’d lived in for the first 20 something years of my life. The night it happened, I should never have left work. I’d pulled a double shift because a friend had called in sick and I’d had a bit of a drink beforehand. I wasn’t drunk, just a little lightheaded, but it was enough to dull my senses. I’d just left work that night, and had made my way down the alleyway to the side of the building to try and clear my head. The music had been pumping and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, a steady thump thump thump that seemed to be getting louder and louder. I’d taken a few deep breaths and closed my eyes to try and get my head to stop spinning. That’s the last thing I remember. The next thing I knew, I was trapped. I don’t know how it happened. I don’t have any idea why it happened. I don’t even know who did it. I was trapped inside a man’s body. It was a strange feeling. Someone else had control over his life, and I was trapped inside his mind. He’d do whatever he wanted and I had no way to stop him, no way to communicate with the outside world, no way to let anyone know I was trapped inside him. In the end it didn’t matter anyway. The man I was trapped inside was nothing to write home about. He was an incredibly average man - average height, average weight, average build, dirt blond hair, average looking. He was a builder, working on construction sites across the city. He’d go to work, come home, watch a bit of TV, go to sleep. Occasionally he’d go out to a bar, talk to a woman, go home with her. But he’d never let anyone close. He was too afraid. He’d been hurt too many times. I was trapped inside him for 18 years. I was trapped inside him through his ups and downs, through his highs and lows. I was trapped as he fell in love with a woman, got married, had a child and then watched his life fall apart. I was trapped as his wife left, his daughter grew to despise him and he lost his job. I was trapped as he turned to booze, became a slob and slowly fell apart. I’d tried to take control on occasion. I’d tried to push him in a different direction, to make him see things from a different perspective. But he never did. It was as if he couldn’t see the world in any other way. I’d wanted to scream. I’d wanted to shout. I’d wanted to reach out and ask someone for help. But I couldn’t, I was trapped. I’d never spoken to anyone in his life. I’d never even spoken to him. It was a lonely existence, but it was all I’d known for almost two decades. It was a lonely life, and a sad one. The man I was trapped inside was slowly unraveling and losing everything. His health was going, his friends were leaving. He’d lost his daughter a long time ago, and his wife had been gone for almost as long. It was a sad existence. He’d tried to turn his life around a number of times. He’d tried to get a new job, to lose weight, to connect with his daughter. But it never worked. Nothing ever did. I’d given up trying a long time ago. For a while, I’d tried to help him, tried to reach out and make him see the world in a different way. I’d tried to help him make connections with the world around him, to make him see the beauty in the world outside. But it’d never worked. In the end I’d resigned myself to his fate. He’d done this to himself, and I’d never been in a position to stop it. But today, something was different. He woke up from a bad hangover and it was as if he’d suddenly woken up to the world around him. He got out of bed, took a shower and threw out every bottle of alcohol in the house. I’d seen him do it before of course. In fact, he’d done it dozens of times over the years. But this time was different. This time he meant it. In the days that followed, he began to slowly rebuild his life. He got a new job, met new people and slowly began to smile again. He looked in the mirror and for the first time in a long time liked what he saw. I was happy for him. I’d never wanted him to suffer, no matter how miserable a bastard he’d been for the last 18 years. I’d wanted him to live a happy life. I’d wanted him to find happiness. I’d wanted him to experience the world to its fullest. I’d wanted him to love. I’d wanted him to laugh. I’d wanted him to live. And now, after 18 years, he was finally going to have the chance. I sighed inwardly. With any luck, I’d finally be able to break through and let him know I was here. I took a deep breath and tried to reach out for the first time in a decade. “Hello?” I said. The voice in my head was deep. It was loud and it was clear. “Hello?” It repeated. “Who is this?”

I've been trapped inside a man's body for 18 years. I've never told anyone.

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